Days to Forget
by AlvainWonderland
Summary: Modern AU. A devastating but fortuitous event causing two people to become heavily reliant on one other to ensure that they survive. (Gwen/Morgana)


A cool and surprisingly chilly breeze envelopes her body, waking her to something she has no recollection of. There's a lag between her mind and her limbs, as her surroundings begin to make themselves present; she can feel heat radiating from the ground below her, hears a repetitive but therapeutic sound faintly in the background, where? She doesn't know.

As her body begins spilling into a conscious state, she can't help but wince at the dull throb reverberating through all her muscles, cannot comprehend why she's in so much pain. Parting dry, cracked and blood stained lips with her tongue; her body began to become more alert, heartbeat beginning to race, her thoughts being submerged by panic.

Finally taking the last step into reality, she opens her eyes to a brightness that could have blinded her had she not squinted – blurry vision slowly sharpens to reveal a clear azure sky, nothing more. Her neck is so stiff; it feels like she's breaking an invisible cast around her throat in order to drop her head to the side, can feel it crack painfully as her eyes adjust to the sight beside her.

Sand. Around her, beneath her, in between her fingers – everywhere. Her brows furrow and it makes her realise how tight and damaged her skin is, it feels stained somehow but more importantly, wounded. A wave of nausea hits her then, when the situation dawns on her; no memory of what happened, on a beach, in pain, the flavour of iron overwhelming her taste buds, the sun beating down at her relentlessly and it's too much. Her breathing becomes irrational; she's greedily inhaling the salty and pure oxygen in ways that pain her lungs, her muscles in tremors.

She knows she can't panic, cool and collected is what she does, and her body would be screaming for a cigarette if it weren't in so much agony. Shakily running her hands through knotted locks of platinum hair in an attempt to steady herself, she lifts herself up and leans back on her elbows, it's all she can manage for now. Though she couldn't say she was prepared for what she observes around her.

It would've been breathtakingly beautiful had there not been pieces of metal, seat remains, glass and other scraps of the aircraft scattered amongst the beach. It was all so juxtaposed, she had to make sure she wasn't having some kind of vivid dream, her brain being just as scrambled as her environment. It didn't make sense.

The sun is burning her, not just her pale and sensitive skin but all the cuts she knows she possesses, upon inspecting her body; she doesn't seem to find any fatal injuries. Vision is all she can trust at this very moment, since her feelings are caught up in a whirlwind of panic, desperation, agony and utter confusion. Slowly but surely, she begins to lift herself off the scorching sand, her legs wavering dangerously; standing upright feels so exhausting. She never realised just how many muscles your body requires to keep you on your feet until you feel them all aching and straining.

Once she manages to get comfortable with walking and suppressing her panicked state, she trawls through the wreckage. There is scrapheap from the plane everywhere, but the actual aircraft is nowhere to be seen, she noticed however, that the waves were bringing things in from the water. Pieces were coming together in her mind, agonizingly slowly. Her skin covered in dried salt, or is it sand? What did it matter anyway – whether she was somehow deposited from the water onto the beach of an unknown island or she flew from the skies and miraculously survived, the situation remains the same.

There is a missing gap in her memory, probably to do with the thumping pain on the side of her head she figures. Her plane crashed, that much is clear. Once her inner monologue repeat that fact, her legs begin to lose stability once more and the next thing she feels is herself sitting on the wet sand with her knees tucked in under her chin. Rocking back and forth slightly; attempting to stop the shaking she knew was imminent, her inability to recollect any recent memories of what happened only increases her anxiety. She decides it's best to start from the basics.

"Naomi" She mouths; her voice is missing too, scratchy and dry. Upon clearing her throat and attempting to moisten her lips, she repeats her name to herself.

"Eighteen. Capricorn. Gap Year. Charity. Fiji.." Holding her breath, images began pouring into her mind, an airport, her ridiculous suitcase and a ticket to Fiji. Stopped over at Melbourne and got on a small aircraft to finish her journey to Nadi. Fuck.

Before panic settles once again upon the realisation of her situation, she notices movement in her periphery vision. Her head turning at break-neck speed to investigate, probably due to the fact that adrenaline has been pumping through her body vigorously for a while now, but fuck it if she can see anything with the sun blaring down into her eyes. Whilst raising her arm to shield her vision from the light, a sharp pain jolts from her elbow and across her forearm and as concerned as she is for whatever injury she was bound to have obtained in the black hole of her memory – _something_ is moving towards her.

A girl, a petite girl, taking fast paced strides up the beach – seemingly oblivious to Naomi's presence. At first she hopes that maybe this island had some kind of civilization, but as she squints to inspect further, the girls clothing is torn and there are marks on her face that mimicked the colour of her hair; scarlet red. The girl has her arms wrapped around herself, clearly comforting herself rather than preserving body heat.

Naomi rises to her feet, staggering and attempting to maintain her balance as though she's heavily intoxicated. The girl spots her then, stops dead in her tracks and begins running towards her with abandon.


End file.
